


got me like, oh

by Brinny



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Light Angst, Mentions of Jo/OMC, Not Canon Compliant, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 01:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15570939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brinny/pseuds/Brinny
Summary: “Couldn’t sleep?”She tips her head up at him, smiling.“You know me. Never could, really.”“Insomniac,” he says through a grin, like he’s accusing her of something truly heinous.





	got me like, oh

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of those ones that was originally posted on LJ. Like FOREVER ago. Evs.

Dean wakes up to an empty bed and the sound of rain. Turning over, he wipes his eyes with the back of his wrist and yawns. He blinks tiredly and sees her standing by the window. She’s pulled a bed sheet with her and when she lifts a hand to push the hair from her face, the sheet falls off of one shoulder and hangs almost at her waist. 

It’s still dark outside and the dim light from the streetlamps are making long shadows that creep and crawl over the walls, seeping into the cracks. He thinks that the walls will probably fall before they’re fixed, but here is not home (even if it’s close) and he doesn’t really need to worry about crumbling plaster. 

Sliding out of bed, he curls his toes against the cold carpet and tugs on the same jeans he wore the day before, zipping them up, but not bothering with the button. 

He rests his knuckles on her back and his lips on her neck. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

She tips her head up at him, smiling. 

“You know me. Never could, really.”

“Insomniac,” he says through a grin, like he’s accusing her of something truly heinous. 

She just shrugs and the sheet knotted around her fingers, cotton that’s faded from white to a dull and dingy gray, slips even further revealing the soft curve of her hip. Dean touches the spot, rough fingertips dragging along smooth skin, and presses another kiss to her neck. He slowly moves his mouth to her ear, his breath warm and whiskey stained, letting his lips drift across the delicate skin of her earlobe. 

“Hey,” he says, quiet. “We’ve still got the rest of the night.” 

She turns around, stands up on her tiptoes to kiss his mouth, but she misses and her lips only hit the corner of his, grazing over stubble. 

Moving his hand from her hip, Dean hooks his fingers around the sheet, trying to push it down and off. He wants her naked. But she stops him before he can, her thin fingers winding around his wrist. 

Dean gives another tired blink, slow and confused behind long lashes. 

“We don’t have the rest of the night?” he guesses. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve gotta go,” she says. She unwinds her fingers, but she does it painfully slow, her nails raking along his palm and then dragging along the underside of his knuckles, as if she’s trying to tease him. She looks towards the window where fat and steady drops of rain are slip-sliding down the glass. “Storm is starting.” 

He nods, pulls the sheet back up over her shoulders.

“Yeah, okay.”

“And it’s a long drive back to Red Cloud.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Dean bites his lip and watches as she twists the ring that dangles a little too loose on her left hand. Nervous habits. Hers is more recent than his, acquired over the last year or so. He hates it. 

“You could stay,” he offers. He shrugs lowly, pale and freckled shoulders stooping as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I mean, if you want.”

“Sorry,” she says again as she rises back up on tiptoes and presses her lips to his cheek. “I can’t.”

He nods again. “Course not.” 

Ducking her head, she pushes more hair from her face, and goes about picking her clothes up off of the floor. She finds her boots (dainty heels long since replacing thick and scuffed soles) underneath the nightstand and she glances up at him with a quick smile. 

“But thank you.” 

“Hey, I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” he says. He pauses to smirk, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “And one hell of a fuck.” He bites at his lip again. “Or, you know, so I’ve been told.”

She returns the smirk. “Well, you were told right.” 

“Good to know.”

She sits down on the bed, dressing quietly. The first two buttons of her shirt are missing from when he ripped it open, desperate to have her naked beneath him, with only loose threads left behind, and the fabric hangs open at her breasts, showing black lace against white skin.

“Oh, but not that gentlemen thing. That one is all lies,” she teases him, her tongue poking out from between her teeth, as she pulls some of the lace between her fingers. “Clearly.” 

He grins. “Also good to know.”

An unsettling feeling sits low in his belly. He doesn’t want her to go. Crossing the room, Dean pulls a hand out of his pocket to run his finger up and down the bridge of her nose once, then twice. She kisses the edge of his palm and he quickly cradles her cheek before sitting down beside her, the bed groaning under their combined weight. 

Dean remembers when she was dirty fingernails and stained jeans and how easily her blonde curls tangled in his hands beneath rough motel sheets. He misses her. 

And when he looks at her, he tries to think of all the ways she’s different and all the ways she’s still the same, but all he can really think about is how much he wants to kiss her. She looks back at him, tugging her skirt down to cover more of her thighs (suddenly shy, as if his hands and mouth weren’t under that same skirt just hours ago) and flicking at the ring on her finger with her thumb. She narrows her eyes, unsure, and gives a small smile. 

“Take care, okay?”

When she stands, she cups his back of his head, and bends down to let her lips brush over his forehead. 

“You’ll call?” he asks. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I call.” 

She leaves and Dean thinks about when everything was the other way around.

**Author's Note:**

> Title, as almost always, stolen from a song. This time, "Love on the Brain" by Rihanna. (GAH. My heart, with that song, dudes.)


End file.
